


Urges Unearthed

by orphan_account



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Bukkake, Corruption, Goblin - Freeform, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Sexual Inexperience, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 09:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18892042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Pieter's vow of chastity has gone on for too long. Rat-Rank the goblin is here to put a stop to it ;))))





	Urges Unearthed

“Hey, Pieter.” The words came from a small, reedy voice little more than a meter off the ground.  
The man named Pieter turned his head over his left shoulder. He was a hulking heap of a man, made more hulking by the plate metal pauldrons and painted breastplate that covered his wide, muscular frame. “Mmm?” he said. He didn’t stop moving but kept walking through the dry underbrush.  
“You dropped something again, sir” squeaked Rat-Rank. The goblin wore a short, ragged cape over his armor, little more than scraps of metal held in place over the vital organs by leather straps. Rat-Rank’s short legs were working double-time to keep pace with Pieter’s longer strides, and his sandaled feet slapped on the dry packed dirt and dead grass.  
Ser Pieter stopped, the chainmail hauberk under his breastplate jingling to a stop as well. He patted his belt and rucksack, trying to determine what it was he dropped. It wasn’t his sword, nor his shield, nor his bedroll…  
Rat-Rank tossed a purse in one hand, the small leather sack clanking and heavy with coin. Pieter shot a gaze like dragon’s breath at the little green figure. He had to bend over to retrieve his property, as Rat-Rank held the coinpurse at his own waist level.  
“That little joke of yours is losing novelty fast,” scolded Pieter, “But I’m losing patience faster, and I’d advise you to stop before one of them runs dry.” The paladin’s footfalls in the brush were heavier and faster now.  
Irwaen, a stoic elven mage and the only other traveler, gave Rat-Rank a shake of the head and a more tempered look of admonishment.  
Rat-rank shrugged. He was sneaking a coin out of Pieter’s purse each time he pulled that joke (seven times so far), and it felt like there was a lot more amusement left in that heavy, clinking bag. “What happens then?” he asked, pulling a sweaty lock of jet-black hair from his round face.  
“What, when I run out of patience?” began Pieter, casting a glance back at Rat-Rank, “Well, when I run out of patience, I will let you stand in front, so you can be the first to face whatever beasts or brigands stand in our way.”  
“So, when you run out of patience, you lose your hero complex.”  
Pieter snorted and quickened his pace. The trio was heading uphill now, through dirt growing looser and rockier. Irwaen said nothing but adopted the well-worn expression he always did in these moments. It was the tight-lipped grimace of a man tired of watching his village always catch fire, but secretly grateful that it was never his house in flames.  
Rat-Rank continued, “You really get off on that schtick, don’t you? Pointing your sword at everything, yelling that it’ll have to go through you and your shield before it can sully your honor or tarnish the kingdom’s goodness or whatev-”  
“Listen here, you little gobshite,” said Pieter, still not turning around to face Rat-Rank, “You count yourself how many times I drew my sword in your defense, how many times I pointed it at dangers that you aroused. Count those times up! You’ll run out of your grubby little fingers and toes well before you finish.”  
Irwaen’s grimace grew tighter, and he tugged down the large, floppy brim of his pointed felt hat.  
“That’s my point,” said Rat-Rank, “You don’t have to be so overprotective – either of me, or of Irwaen. But you are. And what’s more, you go about in way that smacks of self-indulgence, self-aggrandizement.”  
“Puh! Big words from a small lad.” Pieter spat into the grass. “What if I want to be this overprotective, eh? What then?”  
Rat-Rank sputtered at this, not finding a properly cutting comeback soon enough.  
“Stay your damned tongues for two seconds, you two,” cut in Irwaen. The unexpected interruption silenced Pieter and Rat-Rank more than the elf’s actual words, but both men still looked at him and waited for him to say what he needed to say.  
Irwaen took a few breaths in the newfound peace and quiet, then pointed up to the top of the ridgeline. “The stricken village is just over this crest, so you two had best put your squabbles to rest now.”

*** 

No one knew exactly what had befallen the village of Yamby. The first sign of trouble occurred one week ago, when Yamby’s potato cart never showed up at the village market. The roads were swept for signs of bandits or beasts, but none were found. It seemed at first that Yamby just never sent their potato harvest to the keep. However, woodsmen who hunted near the village suddenly went missing, and anyone sent to visit Yamby and check in never returned. The village was still standing; no plumes of smoke were spotted on the horizon so it clearly had not been razed or raided.  
With magic or other unusual fuckery clearly afoot, the keep’s burgomaster called upon this local trio to investigate.  
Irwaen sat on a boulder at the crest of the hill and squinted at Yamby. A cloth was laid out one of the flatter portions of the stone, and several magical implements were laid out on top of that: crystals, an hourglass, a scrying stone, and a well-weathered leather-bound tome. Rat-Rank sat on the boulder with Irwaen, surveying the surrounding lands. Pieter sat a few yards back down the slope. The paladin was going about his typical battle preparation rites and preferred to do these in solitude.  
“It’s not a beast, or not a typical predator,” said Irwaen aloud.  
“No?”  
“No.” Irwaen kept his spyglass pressed to his eye. “The village dogs and cats are still walking around town, though the streets are otherwise empty. Can’t be a poisoned well either, or they’d be dead, too.”  
“Ah.” Rat-Rank cast a glance at the dormant village, but his gaze was quickly drawn back to Pieter. The paladin had stripped out of his armor down to the waist. While his hauberk was draped over the outstretched limb of a low tree, his pauldrons and breastplate were being thoroughly shined. Pieter’s own trunk-like limbs whipped the buffing cloth over the steel plates in small, fast circles. In the high afternoon sun, a light sheen of sweat already glinted on the man’s biceps and auburn Caesar-cut.  
“Certainly not the work of common killers, either. A whole village goes dead in midsummer, you’d smell something. Blood on the air, putrefaction.”  
Rat-Rank crinkled his pointed nose and sniffed but kept looking at Pieter. “Sulphur,” he said, absent-mindedly.  
“Sulphur?” asked Irwaen, setting down the spyglass and taking a long whiff of the breeze.  
“You smell that, too, right? I promise it’s not me.”  
“Yes, I’m catching notes of Sulphur. And ash, as well.” Irwaen thumbed through his tome and began thinking aloud. “Demons indeed could fit the bill, here. If some lesser demon slipped from its planes and into this one, it’d try to return home… but, failing that, it would adopt and adapt to its new habitat…”  
Rat-Rank spaced out as Irwaen flipped through more pages of his book. Pieter was sharpening his sword now, a long and thick length of hardened steel. It wasn’t forged by the finest smiths in all the land, nor was bestowed to Pieter by anyone important. But it was well-tempered and well cared-for, and a deadly instrument in the paladin’s strong hands. The still-shirtless paladin ran his whetstone along the blade’s edge, squinting and checking every now and again for sharpness. All the while, Pieter sang a hymn to himself under his breath.  
“…of course, we probably aren’t facing a Malice or Abhorrence demon, here, as we’ve already ruled out most violent acts… and not a Pestilence demon either – the animals are alright. So that leaves only a few possibilities. Namely… Sloth, or Lust. Something that preys upon the body’s basest instincts, the mind’s fundamental desires.”  
“What? Lust?” Rat-Rank gabbed, his attention caught, and reverie broken.

***

Pieter strode down Yamby’s central thoroughfare. The dirt road into the village meandered past some stables and towards an inn, where it split and broadened like a river delta. The side roads led to hovels and huts, mostly low, wooden, thatch-roofed buildings. The widest and centermost path led to a small square and the town hall, a long, squat building with a stone foundation and a shingled roof. Rat-Rank and Irwaen crept together from hovel to hut, checking each one for signs of life. There were dogs, chickens, goats, and all the usual domestic fauna, but no humans.  
Irwaen and Rat-Rank fell in behind Pieter, and the trio climbed the shallow granite steps that led to the town hall’s double doors. With both of his hands full of sword and shield, Pieter lifted a leg to kick the doors open – but stumbled and stopped before his boot could meet the tall oaken slabs.  
“What’s the – ” began Irwaen.  
“There’s a lot of evil in there,” Pieter whispered hoarsely, “Lots of bodies under the influence of evil. I can feel it in the floorboards, in the walls – I can almost taste it. Get back, hide. We’ll draw it out.”  
Rat-Rank and Irwaen took position behind the bakery, one of Yamby’s few stone buildings, and peered around the corner to watch Pieter with bated breath. The paladin was walking in slow, wide circles around the ancient oak tree at the square’s center.  
“Hear me, demon! Hear these words and savor them! For soon, you shall hear naught but your own cries of pain! The snapping of your own bones!” Pieter beat his kite shield with the flat of his blade for emphasis, at this point having made half a rotation around the tree.  
Rat-Rank loaded and cocked both of his crossbows and checked that each blade slid smoothly from its sheath. Irwaen drummed his fingers idly on the birchbark of his staff.  
“The sound of blood rushing in your ears, and of blood rushing from your body!”  
“How long will this go on?” asked Rat-Rank.  
“The crackling of your own skin, burning in Tyr’s holy light! And mark this well, demon! I am the vessel of that light!”  
Irwaen scratched his pointed elven chin, sprinkled with thin blonde stubble. “Until we have to think of another plan, I suppose.”  
“I am the mirror that reflects that light!” continued Pieter, “I am the lighthouse and the lighthouse keeper! I will bring this light to you, demon, and you will have no choice but to bask in it! I will nail your eyelids open and shine this light deep into each of them!”  
“Or until he runs out of metaphors,” said Rat-Rank.  
Irwaen snorted.  
“I will drag your hide to the scales of justice and stake it to th – ”  
The town hall’s double doors were thrown wide open in a fraction of an instant, the bronze handles smacking into the masonry. Even though their plan worked as intended, the trio was still caught off-guard by the demon.  
It appeared at first as an androgynous humanoid figure while still in the gloom and darkness of inside the hall, a featureless and sexless biped clad in scraps of clothing that were revealing but had nothing to reveal. But as it emerged into the sunlight and caught sight of the paladin that had taunted it so, its form changed. The smooth, indeterminate face grew larger eyes and fuller lips, longer hair and softer features. The scraps of clothing filled and bulged with newly-grown breasts and wider hips.  
But while the demon’s transformation had certainly decided on a direction, it had not decided on a destination. With each step, the features changed slightly, as though the demon was portraying every possible woman, one beautiful permutation at a time. The demon approached Pieter with the slow, purposeful movement of a hunting dog or a predator, but with the exaggerated hip-swaying and body-rubbing of a cheap waterfront harlot.  
Pieter was caught aback by the vision in front of him, the abstracted beauty making ever-changing but unbroken eye contact with him. He could do naught but raise his sword and shield in a defensive stance.  
Rat-Rank was the first to attack, but a crosswind caught the crossbow bolt and the shot went wide. He cursed and set about reloading. Irwaen, seeing a predator that clearly used confusion and desire as its weapons, began thumbing through his grimoire for applicable protective wards.  
The demon was closing the few yards between itself and Pieter faster now, its chameleonic body taking on more exaggerated forms, and changing form more often. The demon’s breasts grew until they spilled from the tattered, ornamental cloth. It stopped biting its lower lip to open its mouth fully and stick out a long, forked tongue. It scooped a hand with pointed, painted fingernails like bloody claws under its left breast and teased the hard nipple first with a fingertip, and then with its tongue.  
Pieter gritted his teeth and lunged, aiming the point of his broadsword for the demon’s ribcage. But the thrust was an action borne of desperation, anger, and confusion – not clear-headed swordsmanship – and the demon easily sidestepped the blade. And though the demon’s offensive weapons were just desire and lust, it was not without its own defenses. It grabbed Pieter’s sword arm in one hand and jabbed the fingernails of the other through the rings in Pieter’s hauberk.  
Several dozen yards away, Irwaen bestowed a simple blessing of mental clarity and resolve on Rat-Rank.  
Pieter yelled something unintelligible. The demon probably didn’t even break the skin, but it still made body-to-body contact with him. Pieter felt the evil under his armor like an unscratchable itch, like a residue left on his skin, and like an acid eating into his soul. He shook his sword-arm wildly and thumped the demon with his shield until it fell back into the dirt. Pieter raised his now-free sword high, preparing to swing it down into the demon’s foul skull and cleave it in twain. But when he lowered his shield, Pieter saw that the demon was gone.  
In its place was the small green form of Rat-Rank, lying flat on its back. Blood ran freely from one of the goblin’s nostrils, staining the ground and his lacy pink maid’s outfit. The goblin’s eyes flickered until they settled on the proper amber hue of the original and locked with Pieter’s in an expression of purest betrayal.  
Pieter stumbled backwards, aghast. What had he done?  
The vision of Rat-Rank got unsteadily to its feet, leaning against the old Yamby oak for support. It hitched up its skirt and fixed its tights first, then wiped the blood from its upturned nose on the back of an elbow-length glove. Its long, charcoal hair grew shorter, as if it were retreating back into the scalp, until it replicated Rat-Rank’s characteristic pageboy.  
Pieter swallowed. While he felt guilt like a chasm opening beneath his heart, there was another feeling filling his body, coming from below the belt. For the first time since the demon appeared in all of its sultry shapes, he felt an unignorable arousal. Pieter could feel his growing erection straining against the coarse fabric of his undergarments and the constraints of his codpiece.  
“Ouchie,” said the shape of the goblin, repeating the word until it found the right pitch and intonation. It patted its bloody nose several more times with the back of its glove, though the stream of blood had already run down its neck to its chest, staining the hem of the pink blouse’s low-cut neckline.  
“I – ” began Pieter. His sword dropped from his limp fingers and clanged on one of the great oak’s exposed roots. The guilt and arousal blossomed simultaneously and coalesced into one crippling, confusing mixture.  
A gout of scintillating lilac magic splashed against the fake goblin and knocked it once again to the ground, a good two yards from where it first stood. The prostrate body’s skin flickered various shades of green.  
“-aah! By the saints!” yelled Pieter, horrified at what was happening to the beautiful thing before him, a thing that he wanted nothing more than to cherish, protect, and caress.  
Rat-Rank swooped upon his finely-dressed doppelganger and dragged it to its feet by a long, pointed ear. The already-stunned demon could do naught but shriek under the addition of more pain, the uncanny noise of Rat-Rank’s own voice giving breath to otherworldly oaths. The goblin dragged the demon back to the oak and stapled the grabbed ear to the tree with a bolt from his pistol crossbow.  
Rat-Rank backed away, getting out of range of the demon’s claws before it could regain its poise. Again, the demon tried shapeshifting to free itself from its predicament, but the jig was up. Whatever face or hair color or cup size the demon wanted, its ear was going nowhere, and it was in too much pain and panic to be seductive. Rat-Rank retrieved Pieter’s fallen sword and drove it into the yowling infernal creature between its third and fourth rib. The sword came to a stop in the oak tree’s sapwood.  
Whatever plane it originally hailed from, the demon’s blood was still red and coppery. As spurts of that blood cascaded from the broadsword’s entrance and exit wounds, the demon’s chameleonic form returned to its presumably original shape: a sickly off-white and featureless humanoid. 

***

“For our service, the innkeep’s invited us to stay as long as we like,” said Irwaen, “But I’ll not travel another mile with you until your… issues are put to rest.”  
Rat-Rank drained his flagon of ale and set it down on the inn table, the rough wood scarred by years of graffiti and idle knife play. The empty flagon joined four more of its comrades, and the goblin picked up the last filled one in the set.  
“That’s fair,” said Pieter, quietly. A lifelong devout teetotaler, there were no flagons before him, but only a trencher and hearty portion of stew. He sat directly across from Rat-Rank, with Irwaen to his left.  
The villagers hailed the trio as saviors for breaking the Lust demon’s reign over Yamby and freeing them from the wanton thralldom they served in the town hall. The mayor promised to send his highest recommendations to the burgomaster, and the village fool promised to sing an epic song of their heroism. But the victory was hollow for Pieter. Not only did he fail in his role as the protector of the party, but he did so while having his deepest, most unspoken fantasies displayed for all to see – including the very object of those fantasies. No accomplishment could feel satisfying when pitted against such shame.  
Rat-Rank was in a different but no less awkward situation. When the adrenaline of battle wore off, he was left with a sickly, uncanny disquiet from attacking his spitting image. And even when he came to terms with that, he still had to reckon with the fact that he himself was Pieter’s deepest, most lustful fantasy. The more he chewed this over in his head, the more it made sense. It explained how Pieter was both overprotective of him and loathe to show kindness or express amity. And as for the whole maid-outfit thing… well, the paladin’s vow of chastity must be doing funny things with his brain.  
The only question left for Rat-Rank was how to act on this information, but he needed alcohol before he could answer.  
“Perhaps it’d be less embarrassing if we all shared our own deep, dark, fantasies?” began Irwaen. Rat-Rank propped his chin up on his hand and nodded at the elf to continue; Pieter stared into his food and picked idly at the sleeve of his doublet.  
“Well, you see… I’ve always wanted to fu…fuck a – uh, nevermind,” said Irwaen, “This is something between you two and I’d rather stay out of it all.” The elf got up from the low wood bench and tossed his thin braids back over his shoulder. “I’ll be sampling the wines and warming my hide by the fire if you should need a mediator. But I hope you don’t.”  
Thus Rat-Rank and Pieter were left alone, a silent and awkward island in the hubbub and good cheer of the alehouse. The goblin, awash in several more pints of ale than his small frame really needed, was comfortable in silence. Pieter was not. He chewed each bite of bread and stew slowly and thoroughly, as avoiding eye contact would be even more difficult when he ran out of food.  
Rat-Rank brought his other arm onto the table and nestled his chin in his cupped hands. He watched Pieter with a pierced eyebrow cocked roguishly. The way the paladin tried to avoid the issue, to procrastinate on the inevitable discussion – it annoyed him. It seemed like the immaturity of child, the behavior of someone in no place to be slaying demons, let alone adventuring with others. He reached out with a foot and kicked Pieter gently under the table. “Pieter,” he sang.  
The paladin finished dragging a crust of bread through the thick stew left in his bowl before he looked up.  
“Do you wanna hear my deepest, darkest fantasy?”  
Pieter’s eyes shot downwards again. His meal was almost gone.  
Rat-Rank took a long swig from his flagon that left a lining of froth on his upper lip. “It’s only fair, right?” He punctuated this with a waggling of eyebrows and another gentle kick to Pieter’s knee.  
“Rat-Rank, I owe you no explanations. Whatever that elf asks of us, it’d be for the best if you forget this all happened. Move on,” grumbled Pieter.  
Rat-Rank stopped mid-sip to let out a giggle. “I don’t think I need an explanation. But anyways, my biggest fantasy has always been to… well, really just corrupt someone, you know?”  
Pieter was silent.  
“Now, when I say corrupt, I mean more than taking someone’s maidenhood or leaving my seed on their face. I mean total corruption. Fucking someone so hard and so thoroughly that that’s all they want to do anymore: just fuck. Fucking someone and making them forget their virtues, their modesty. Planting a seed of perversity that grows into a twisted and hungry tree, an ever-present desire to rut and be rutted. And not just with me, anymore, but with anyone. Giving them a new face that could never wear another mask of innocence.” Rat-Rank drained the last of his ale.  
“If any man would despoil a person so, it’d certainly be one of your kind.”  
“Ha!” the goblin laughed, a sharp, high-pitched exclamation. He leaned forward over the wall of empty flagons to snatch a stew-laden crust of bread from Pieter’s plate. “That’s almost flattery, you racist bastard,” he said through a mouthful of crumbs, “But the ‘evil goblin’ trope is passé.”  
The paladin grimaced. “No, you twist my words – you know what I mean. You goblins are – ”  
“Are what?” cut in Rat-Rank, “Tempting? Scrumptious?” He bit his pierced lip in a comical, exaggerated fashion and pulled down on the neckline of his loose grey linen shirt.  
Pieter raised a hand. “I mean only to say that your kind are already hedonists to begin with. You don’t know piety or chastity, or even charity. If anyone was going to act as a missionary for vice, it just stands to reason they’d be a goblin. I meant nothing more.”  
“So, you think I’m cut out for the job?” Rat-Rank pinched one of his nipples (also pierced) through the fabric of his shirt. Beneath the table, he stroked Pieter’s shin with his foot.  
Pieter averted his gaze . Again, he felt guilt and arousal, but they were of a different strain than the feelings before. They were naturally bred emotions, not the implants of a demon’s wiles. The guilt came from years of piety and strict adherence to his vows, years where he’d been able to suppress his carnal thoughts without much struggle. But now these thoughts were brought to light by the Lust demon and flourishing with Rat-Rank’s raunchiness. All of his time in the friaries and priories of Tyr led him to believe that he could easily resist such evil temptations, but now he was learning that this wasn’t the case at all.  
Pieter shifted uncomfortably away on the bench, out of reach of the goblin’s short legs. “You stop that right now,” he commanded in clipped words.  
Rat-Rank dropped his voice an octave to mimic Pieter’s and said, “You humans are all the same. All pain, no pleasure! All flagellation, no fun! All prudes! If any species was going to eradicate itself through total chastity, it’d be you! You know what I mean, you human!”  
“I don’t have to endure any of with this drunken nonsense.” The paladin stood up with a start, catching the attention of other tavern patrons. He jabbed his finger into Rat-Rank’s collarbone and growled, “My patience perished long, long ago. We’ll talk when you’re sober again and when you’ve learned some respect for your betters. But only then. You hear me?”  
Rat-Rank looked up at Pieter, then down at Pieter’s tented trousers. “You’ve got an erection, human,” he murmured.  
The paladin stormed off to his room without a second word.  
“You have an erection!” yelled Rat-Rank after him, making sure he was loud enough for every patron to hear. Irwaen, seated by the hearth, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily.  
Only when Pieter was upstairs and well out of sight did Rat-Rank slip the vial of aphrodisiac from his sleeve and back into his rucksack. 

*** 

Pieter knelt beside his bed, the softest straw mattress and biggest bedframe that the inn had to offer, and prayed. It was self-indulgence now, almost performative. He prayed not just to ask the gods for guidance and strength through his trials, but also to remind himself of his own faith and devotion. He prayed to renew the quiet stoicism and suppression in himself that the friars and aged, retired paladins first instilled years ago. He prayed to pry his mind away from itself, away from its own nature. And after years of practice, Pieter was a good at praying. The memory of the demon in Rat-Rank’s form was the first to be buried, leaving only its vague fantasy counterpart behind. This was harder to bury. Specific details, visual impressions, and sequences of events are easy enough to forget already. But a flight of fancy that had been revisited and revised for months left its mental fishhooks in everything.  
Pieter was an instinctively protective man. Always taller and stronger than the other kids, this trait formed in his adolescence. Training to become a paladin nurtured this trait and tied it to the standards of chivalry. He was already well-accustomed to being a protector, and many elements of Rat-Rank demanded protection. The lean little goblin was half Pieter’s of height and a third of his weight. Even as a young goblin now, he’d probably die his natural death before Pieter’s own – unless an unnatural death came first. Rat-Rank had seen his share of close calls with unnatural death already. But, perhaps above everything else, Rat-Rank was cute, and this simply compelled Pieter’s protection. Rat-Rank was naturally a prime target for Pieter’s suppressed sexuality.  
The pink maid outfit was an early addition to the fantasy. Rat-Rank seldom dressed in anything but baggy clothes in drab earth tones or piecemeal armor. These paired well with his fern-color complexion, but something pink and form-fitting would pop. The color would draw the eye straight to where the clothes stopped and started, and make the brain take stock of everything it could see and everything else it had to imagine. Rat-Rank was a bit of a raunchy slob, so the notion of him acting like a domesticated barmaid or housekeeper held both sexual and non-sexual appeal.  
Pieter’s practiced brain had almost buried his sexual thoughts, but a half-mast erection still filled his trousers. It was as if his body was not so ready to forget any of it – neither Rat-Rank’s form dressed in that outfit, nor the actual goblin stroking his leg under the table…  
Someone knocked on Pieter’s door.  
“What is it?” Pieter called, still kneeling.  
“I come bearing gifts, sir,” said Rat-Rank from the other side.  
Pieter sighed, then stood. Pushing lust for the goblin from his mind still left the irritation, and he wasn’t yet ready to look at Rat-Rank eye-to-eye. “You may enter.”  
Rat-Rank pushed the door open with his butt, as both his hands held a heavily-laden tray. “So, truce?” he asked.  
Pieter realized in the split second that Rat-Rank’s back was turned that his standing position showed off the bulge in his loose pants. He sat down quickly at the foot of the bed and folded his hands in his lap. “I already ate, you know,” he said.  
Rat-Rank nudged the door closed behind him with a foot. “Yeah, but you left before dessert. Are you sure I can’t... tempt you?” The goblin held out the tray to Pieter. It was piled high with dried fruits, candied nuts, and a half-dozen scones. There was no pitcher of ale or bottle of wine, but instead a carafe of milk and two cups.  
Pieter surveyed the food as if what was there would actually affect his answer. The tray was shaking slightly; it was probably a lot for Rat-Rank to carry through a tavern of tallfolk, up a flight of stairs, and down a hallway without spilling. He took the burden from the goblin’s hands and set it on his lap, a new means to conceal his crotch. “”How very thoughtful of you. Thank you.”  
The goblin sat on the furs of the bed a respectful distance from Pieter. “My kind have an aphorism for times like this,” he said. The words “my kind” were not a jab at Pieter’s earlier words, but just the way he was referring to his kin.  
“Oh?”  
“The goblintongue version won’t do you any good, but translated, it’s something like, ‘He who is sad hasn’t eaten enough.’”  
Pieter poured himself a cup of milk. “Hmmph! Food is good, but I don’t believe it’s quite that good.”  
“Well, the words have different meanings in the original tongue,” explained Rat-Rank, “Now, lots of us still take the saying literally – binge-eating and binge-drinking are traditional. On days of mourning, we have gatherings with massive feasts. But the saying can also mean something more like, ‘He who is unsatisfied hasn’t done enough to make himself satisfied.’ You know what I mean?”  
“Ah, yes. Personal responsibility.” The paladin selected a currant scone from the pile and bit into it.  
Rat-Rank tucked a lock of hair back behind a broad, pointed ear. “Err… not exactly. It’s more about how oftentimes, when we know what’s making us unhappy, we know what will make us feel happy again. But we always have some reason we don’t just make that happen ourselves. Whatever is stopping us from reaching happiness, the saying is there to remind us to take action.”  
“Ah, I see.”  
“So, unhappiness that doesn’t have a specific cure we can chase – for example, depression – our term for it literally translates to ‘pain beyond hunger.’” The goblin plucked a dried fig from the bowl and bit off half. “But anyways, this is not an aphorism about the merits of personal responsibility, it’s about the essential pitfall of self-denial.”  
Pieter’s chewing slowed. “I can see where you’re going, and you’d best stop it right now,” he warned. He meant to sound reproachful, but his words were muffled by the dense crumbs of the scone.  
“All I want to do is help you, Pieter. You’re unhappy. You’ve been unhappy for years upon years, I’d wager. I know how human societies treat queers like us – how they drive them into cloisters and abbeys, how they teach them to put a part of themselves where no one has to see it.”  
Pieter swallowed enough of his mouthful to speak clearly. “You’re making a lot of claims here, lad. Claims about a life you haven’t lived.”  
“Alright, so I am. Which claim is wrong? Where did I go off the path?”  
Pieter finished chewing and swallowing in silence. He didn’t take another bite. His head was swimming and heavy, and he could feel his own pulse.  
“You know how well your human ways have served you. They’ve brought you exactly here, right to this very situation, and they’re keeping you here.” Rat-Rank lowered his scolding, admonishing voice to a tone of pleading and imploring. “I’m telling you, face your unhappiness as we goblins do. Feed yourself. Satisfy yourself. Whatever it will do for you, however it will make you feel afterwards, I can’t say. I’m not going to promise you anything – except that you won’t face your unhappiness alone.”  
Pieter sighed. His bitterness towards Rat-Rank still hung in his mind like an aftertaste, but hearing that the goblin wanted to do more than tease, harass, and harangue tempered it.  
Rat-Rank finished the fig and crunched on a chestnut. “How about it, sir? Can I help you make yourself happy?”  
The paladin nodded wordlessly. It was a brief, wary nod.  
Rat-Rank couldn’t help but grin. Success! Pieter bought it! In a flash, he was off the bed and standing before the paladin. With Pieter seated and Rat-Rank standing, their eyes were just about level. “Can I get this out of the way?”  
Pieter nodded again. Food was off the menu now.  
Rat-Rank lifted the tray from Pieter’s lap and noticed with no small relish the bulge beneath. An end table bearing a large bronze candelabra stood across the room from the bed; the goblin set the food down here. “This is your first time, right?” he asked.  
“Yes.”  
Rat-Rank turned back around to face Pieter and began undressing. He shed his clothes and left them on the floor as he walked back to the paladin. “This will be my first time with a human – so I’m excited, too.” This was true, but Rat-Rank was excited for other reasons. He’d already been with elves and orcs aplenty, so he wasn’t expecting anything too wild. However, this would indeed be his first time with a virgin.  
“Oh. Is… that so,” said Pieter. His eyes drank in the sight before him. Rat-Rank’s body was a muted green color, darker at the cheeks and eye sockets, and lighter where it was scarred. He had the narrow shoulders and wide hips typical of goblins, but with less fat and more musculature. He was devoid of body hair, save for a light dusting in the armpits and a tapered stripe from pierced navel to groin. Though Rat-Rank was less endowed than most other goblins, that simply meant his uncut cock looked almost proportional to his small frame. For now, that cock was swelling and waving with each of the goblin’s steps. Pieter fiddled idly with the hem of his shirt, unsure of what to do with himself.  
The naked goblin leaned in close and took the man’s stubbled chin in a hand. “Pieter – look, you’re going to hate this if you keep trying to be morose about it. Relax and just do what feels natural and good.”  
“I’m afraid I – I don’t know what natural is,” said Pieter. His teal eyes met Rat-Rank’s topaz gaze.  
“That’s fine. Just stand up.”  
Pieter complied, bringing his bulge level with the goblin’s face, who then set about unlacing the pants and undergarments. Pieter’s penis was soon exposed: a circumcised length of man-meat rising from a coarse forest of dark rust pubic hair. Man-musk and the scent of the day’s sweat wafted into Rat-Rank’s nostrils. Rat-Rank reached up and patted Pieter’s solid abdominal muscles. “Well, if anything feels unnatural, let me know, alright?”  
“Okay,” breathed Pieter.  
Rat-Rank kissed the underside of the penis, giggling as the swollen organ twitched in his hand. “Oh! And let me know when something feels good,” he appended.  
“That… felt really good.”  
“Mmm, I thought so.” Pieter’s cock was hard enough to stand on it its own now, bending naturally downwards and to the left, so Rat-Rank could use his hands for other tasks. With one he pulled Pieter’s linens down to his knees, and with the other he stroked his own hardening shaft. With his face, he nuzzled Pieter’s groin. He rubbed the dick on his cheeks, let it flop onto his forehead, and coated it only with delicate kisses. He didn’t suck it, he didn’t need to yet. All he wanted to do right now was listen to Pieter’s heavy breathing, to find the motions that made the breathing harder, the motions that made Pieter vocalize. For a full minute Rat-Rank contented himself with playing with the cock before looking back up to Pieter.  
Pieter was watching the crotch-level display with eyes like dinner plates, and hands rested awkwardly on his hips.  
When his eyes locked again with Pieter’s, Rat-Rank took the cock from his mouth and said, “You’re stiff as a board, sir. Not just in a good way, also in an awkward way.”  
“Er, my apologies.”  
“Here.” Rat-Rank took Pieter’s hands in his own and brought them to his shoulders. “It’s okay to touch me, you know. Please do, in fact.”  
The paladin pulled Rat-Rank’s hair from his face as the goblin ran a delicate tongue over the frenulum, a motion that drew a moan from inside his chest. His hands were already large for a human, and they covered the goblin’s head like a heavy hat.  
“Actually, wait,” said Rat-Rank, pulling away from the cock with a parting kiss. “This isn’t new to me, but this is all new to you. You should touch me more – that is, unless this thing can’t wait.”  
“No, no, it can wait.”  
Rat-Rank hopped up on the bed and turned in a circle, running his hands over his chest and ass in a dramatic flourish. “Come explore me, sir,” he purred.  
Pieter sat back down on the bed, awkwardly swung his bound legs up, and leaned forward so that he faced the stack of thin pillows. His tree-trunk arms took Rat-Rank by the shoulder and hip and drew him closer. His calloused fingertips wandered over the standing goblin’s chest, neck, and ass cheeks – but stayed away from his erection.  
Rat-Rank shivered deliciously under the rough texture and firm touch. “Here, these things are really sensitive now,” he said, pointing at his nipples. Both were pierced with thin steel rings that were once linked by a chain.  
Pieter took the left ring between thumb and forefinger and gave it a pulling, twisting motion. “Does this feel good?”  
Rat-Rank whimpered with exaggerated whorishness. In all honesty, it didn’t. Pieter was unaccustomed to bringing himself pleasure, much less the pleasure of others. His actions were brusque and forceful, too concerned with getting from point A to point B and unconscious of the journey. The only sensation Rat-Rank felt in his nipple was pain. But if Rat-Rank wanted an experienced and talented lover, he wouldn’t be here in the first place. As unpleasant as the physical sensation was, it carried an immense satisfaction:  
That uptight paladin bastard was finally breaking his vows, and not just for Rat-Rank, but because of Rat-Rank.  
“Mmmm, you should put your mouth on it, too,” murmured the goblin. He left out exact instructions – this was all about pushing Pieter’s envelope bit by bit and seeing how far the paladin would go.  
To the little goblin’s discomfort (but not dismay), Pieter tried teasing the nub with nibbles. There was an audible clacking of teeth on metal, and Rat-Rank whined aloud. “Eenngh! Now do the other one,” he instructed. His stinging nipple needed some time to recover.  
“You’d tell me if I were doing something wrong, wouldn’t you?” asked Pieter. He moved his mouth to the other nipple without lifting his face from Rat-Rank’s chest, dragging his bristly stubbled jaw over the goblin’s skin.  
“Oh, you’re doing just fine, sir. Don’t fret,” encouraged Rat-Rank. He ran his fingers leisurely through Pieter’s chestnut hair and gritted his teeth. Again, the paladin latched on like a lamprey, tugging and biting at the sensitive flesh. Rat-Rank’s hand went claw-like on the paladin’s scalp.  
Pieter must have noticed the change but interpreted it as encouragement, and he attacked the nipple with renewed fervor, sucking the bud between his teeth and pulling harder.  
“Aah!” Rat-Rank patted the paladin’s shoulder, tapping out. “You’re much more aggressive than they’re used to,” he explained, “But I want you to keep exploring…”  
Pieter brought his gaze up. “Then what next?”  
Rat-Rank chuckled, “That’s up to you. Surprise me, sir.”  
“There’s one thing I’ve not felt in a long time – could we kiss?”  
“Alright…” Rat-Rank pushed on the paladin’s nose with a fingertip. “But! Don’t get all romantic on me, big guy.”  
Pieter’s brawny arm encircled the goblin by the shoulders, pulling him even closer and down to his knees. The thick stubble was just as unpleasant to the face as it was to the chest, a sensation that was soon overshadowed by Pieter’s attempts at kissing. He mashed his pursed lips to the goblin’s and smacked them. Rat-Rank tried his best to kiss back and gave silent thanks that Pieter wasn’t trying to French him.  
“Can you do that on my neck, sir?”  
Pieter complied. His beginner’s technique was more enjoyable here. The paladin’s heavy breathing roared in Rat-Rank’s ears and tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. The position itself was also one of greater intimacy and surrender, Rat-Rank felt. When people kiss each other on the lips, they kiss as equals. But when one bares their neck for the other, they kiss as predator and willing prey. It all made Rat-Rank’s nerves tingle. He grabbed the arm that encircled him at the elbow with one hand and stroked himself with the other. “Hhhaaah – can you give me a hickey?” he breathed.  
Pieter took aim at the base of Rat-Rank’s neck, just above the collarbone, and sucked hard. The goblin suspected that a few of the paladin’s amateurish and overpowered kisses were going to leave hickeys anyways, but this one was for sure. Until it faded, the hickey would be a participation trophy and a way to always passively remind the others of what had happened here.  
“Mmm, you know there’s a whole half of me you’ve been neglecting,” purred the goblin. He was curious if Pieter would go for his ass or cock first and wanted to find out soon.  
As it turned out, it was the cock. Rat-Rank felt more triumph than arousal. Pieter wedged one hand between the goblin’s silken thighs and cupped the small scrotum there, while his other closed on the cock above. Rat-Rank’s length poked out from his body in a gentle upward curve. The trickle of pre-cum running down the underside of the shaft was a blessing; Pieter’s grasp was tight, his skin was calloused, and his motions were bullish, like he was trying to make up for inexperience with sheer vigor. Each stroke pulled the goblin’s foreskin back from his deep green head.  
Rat-Rank sucked air through his teeth and stared fixedly into Pieter’s eyes, the inhalation borne more of raw stimulation than of pleasure. But the paladin could only hold eye contact for so long. His attention was always drawn to the centerpiece of this novel experience, the penis in his hands.  
“You know, you can take a closer look.” Rat-Rank waggled his broad hips, now confident that he could tempt the paladin into almost anything. “But be gentle.”  
Pieter brought the twitching cock to his mouth like he would a piece of food too hot to eat. He formed his lips into a pursed circle and pushed them over Rat-Rank’s head.  
“Gentle!” the goblin reminded, feeling Pieter’s teeth skimming over his sensitive tip. He could have given Pieter more instructions – press your tongue over your bottom teeth, bring your upper lip over your front teeth, and so on – but that would only overwhelm Pieter and defeat the purpose. Rat-Rank wasn’t here to have his dick sucked, but to leave the taste of himself on Pieter’s tongue, the sensation of himself inside Pieter’s body.  
The paladin dropped his jaw, tightened his lips, and sucked. This actually felt better for Rat-Rank than before. The goblin fiddled with one of his nipples and breathed, “Thank you, sir. But I want you to take it all.”  
As expected, the paladin complied – and successfully, too, for he was a large man and Rat-Rank was not unreasonably well-endowed. The physical sensation was less intense like this, but the emotional thrill was greater. Rat-Rank could get carried away with that type of a feeling. He patted the paladin’s head twice, a signal to stop.  
“Mm?”  
“It’s my turn again. Lay down,” instructed Rat-Rank. He resumed fellating Pieter where he left off; the paladin was still just as hard. Again, the small goblin worked the cock with kisses, licks, and strokes. To take just Pieter’s head into his mouth would fill up most of it, anyways. So he ran his tongue and fingers along the formidable shaft, making Pieter’s bristly legs bounce and twitch and shift on the furs, making Pieter throat rumble with hearty grunts. At first the paladin watched this process looking deep into the goblin’s eyes, but soon he turned them to the ceiling and clenched them shut. All the while, Rat-Rank stroked his own cock, now slickened.  
Knowing that Pieter was a virgin (and a pent-up one at that), Rat-Rank was delicate in his work. Too much stimulation could send Pieter over the edge, and he probably wouldn’t warn Rat-Rank when he was about to come. But this situation inspired Rat-Rank and gave him a mischievous idea. Rat-Rank pushed Pieter’s penis forward, so that it pointed not straight upwards, but more toward the paladin’s stomach and chest. Pieter’s low grunts took on a higher pitch. The goblin brought the hand up from his own groin and pressed Pieter’s perineum with the knuckles. To finish the job entirely, the goblin sucked hard at the underside of the glans.  
Pieter came with a roar, the sound of milliliters upon milliliters of raw biochemical frustration being drawn from the body by force. The semen, as planned, shot in a stringy arc over the paladin’s stolid chest and landed on his face.  
“Hahaha!” Rat-Rank let out an insuppressible laugh and went back to stroking himself. After this display, he was reaching his own climax soon.  
Pieter’s eyes were clenched shut at the time of eruption; upon opening them his vision was obstructed by thick strands of his seed dripping from his eyebrows. “I – ugh…” he began. His erection, now abandoned by Rat-Rank, dribbled the last of his semen on the tops of his thighs.  
“Shhh, I’m getting close, too,” whispered the goblin. The goblin crawled onto his knees and shuffled forwards, straddling Pieter at the waist.  
Squinting, Pieter scraped a strand of semen out of his field of vision, but upon doing so, didn’t know what to do with his dripping finger. He looked dazedly at the masturbating goblin above him.  
“Leave it be,” rasped Rat-Rank, before coming himself. Without the pressurization of a chastity vow behind it, his ejaculation didn’t reach Pieter’s face. His cum, clearer and thinner than Pieter’s, splattered onto the paladin’s chiseled pectorals and abdominals. This would do. The important thing here was that Pieter watched himself be marked by Rat-Rank’s seed. The goblin coaxed the last droplets of cum from his cock and rolled over onto the furs, spent and contented.  
Pieter looked down at the mess he was in the way someone would look at their ruined suit. He was in that state of post-orgasmic clarity now, and his inculcated attitudes were catching up with his impulsive behavior.  
“Ah, see? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”  
Pieter flicked his hand to get some of the cum off it, but otherwise said nothing.  
“You want me to clean you up, sir?”  
“Ugh, yeah, fetch a –”  
Rat-Rank crawled over Pieter and lapped some of the semen from his abdomen. This runny puddle was Rat-Rank’s own, and it pooled in the paladin’s navel and the seams between his muscle groups.  
“You really don’t have to do that.” Pieter sounded impatient.  
“But I want to. Don’t you want this, too?” Rat-Rank cleaned out the navel with the point of his tongue and swallowed. His seed was salty and musky from his meat-heavy diet.  
Pieter sighed and resigned himself to his sticky fate for at least a little while longer. “What I might have wanted and what I want now are worlds apart. Right now I want only to…well… just be clean.” Pieter wanted a good long prayer, too, but he knew the mockery it would provoke to say so.  
The goblin inched forward to Pieter’s chest and giggled. “Mmmm, I’m afraid it’s too late to be clean, sir. You are a soiled man now. And not just soiled by me, no – you are made dirty by your own deeds as well.” Rat-Rank scooped a dollop of the paladin’s cum onto his fingertip and scraped it off on the back of his bottom teeth. “And doesn’t it all just feel sublime?”  
Pieter harrumphed. “We should not have done this.”  
“Is that so?” Rat-Rank asked between licks, in a way that conveyed no interest in the answer.  
“It was a moment of doubt and weakness – a moment of doubt and weakness that you aimed for and exploited. ”  
“Mmm, I noticed.” Rat-Rank swallowed again. “Look, if you want to regret this, you’ll have the rest of your life to do that. But right now, it’s too early to go missing your chastity vow or pining for your lost days of innocence.”  
Pieter was silent. However pleasurable the experience had been, he felt uncomfortably changed. He laid prostrate and stared at the ceiling with his arms out to his sides and his erection deflated.  
Rat-Rank continued, “Irwaen told us to resolve the issues between ourselves. I think this tells you where I stand, how I think things should be between us. All that remains is for you to make up your own mind.” The goblin ran his tongue over Pieter’s sticky clavicle, and whispered, “And to tell what you decide.”  
Pieter’s face was the only cum-covered body part left; everything else was just moist and tacky with Rat-Rank’s saliva. “Rat-Rank, I need peace and quiet, time to reflect, and time to pray,” he declared.  
The goblin grinned. He had expected the paladin to run screaming back to chastity and prayer when the fucking ended; a ‘maybe’ was a welcome and exciting surprise. “Of course, sir,” he whispered, and kissed Pieter once on the sticky cheek, a light peck. On that note, Rat-Rank shuffled off the bed and over to his discarded clothes. “I’ll leave you to your contemplations, then,” he said, pulling his britches up over a half-mast erection.  
“Hold up, there’s –” Pieter waved vaguely at his face.  
“No, no, don’t worry about it. Take your time. I want to let you come to terms with it, make peace with yourself.” Rat-Rank kicked his delicate feet into his slippers.  
“I am still covered in… you know.”  
The goblin pulled on his shirt and chortled, “Oh, I know. I’ll send up the innkeeper with a bucket of water.”  
“NO, DON’T DO THAT.” Pieter sat up straight, letting the seed run back down his face and neck.  
Rat-Rank laughed and strode out into the hall, leaving the door open behind him.


End file.
